A BELGIAN SLAVE RAID

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 3033, 21 March 1917, Page 6

A BELGIAN SLAVE RAID

"WHAT I SAW AT WAVRE"

AN EYE-WITNESS'S STORY

The district of Wavre (Brabant) consists of twenty-two communes —there are 2800 communes in Belgium. The order whioh summoned at Wavre the entire (male population between the v 4f»S of 17 and 56, of 22 villages of the district of that name—about' 10,000 men—was posted on November 14, and read;— ; . Notice. All men between the ages of. 17 and 56 (inclusive) of the commune of are requested to present themselves on 16th November, 1916, at 8 o'clock a.m. (German fcinio), at' Wavre market place. The burgomaster should bo present. ' The' men concerned should be 'carrying their identity cards, and, in case of need, their meldekarte (card of control). Small hand baggage will be allowed. Those who fail to appea'f will be immediately transported without delay, and by force, to the places where they are to work. Besides, they are liable to very heavy fines and long imprisonment. Priests, doctors, 'awyers, school masters and nrofessors .need liot present themselves. Ofctignies, 3xd November, 1916. The Imperial Kreischef of Nivelles, GRAF VON SCHWEFUN.

~- So it is for to-morrow. And the notice was not posted until 7 o'clock in the morning, an hour when all innn who.are not out of work are already in the factories or in the yards. ■ They were expecting, they xrer& fearing, this order. But, without doubt, they had had a forlorn hope that it would he delayed; a~ vague hope, one of those hopes which instinct keeps alive, against all reasoning, in the souls of the people. Undoubtedly they had not believed it.' They did not oelipve 't until, when ibe notice was posted, suddenly, amonc the women and children oame the panic-stricken desolation .of complete surprise. The workers, who did not know of it, had to he warned; they had to he warned so that they might havo time to prepare, ■so that this day they might spend with their dear ones—tho last, perhaps —and together to take such precautions, poor, unavailahle, such as were possible. _ The weeping women wont to fetch, their men, to take them hack to' thefr homes.; and there were heartbreaking: scenes, poignant but admirable in the> feelings of the simple} stoical devotion which they Teveal. The greater part of.these homes ore poor: two years of war, of dear living, of rations have hroiurht 'about destitution : there is' nothing in tho house but the portion of food strictly, measured (for each one; and to-morrow, if the father, if _ the eldest son is sent' away, there will'be no more resources. That matters nothing; there is no thought exoept for. the beloved being who is threatened'; in the bundle they are preparing, thev nut .the last warm carment, tho last blanket, all' the bread they have left, everything— tomorrow, indeed, when he is gone, who will want to.'eat! A Melancholv Procession.

They must be at Wavre at 8 o'clock says the order. And for the greater part of the men summoned the way to the chief town'of the canton is long; one hour, two hours. There are no more farm wagons in the country; there are no more trains. They must' walk, carrying their hag. l ?. So they must leave early. Before 6 o!clock the procession, the melancholy and interminable procession, begins on the roads, 4n the biting cold, the dark November morning, the freezing wind, for the weather is- cruel, nature, menacing and dark; accentuating»the anguish in their hearts. But they must he strong. The impression of despair must not he given. Most of the men have forbidden the\r families to accompany them; the anguish of the separation might make them show weakness. This must not be, so-nearly'all of them are going alone, pne sees, marching to their Calvary, only groups -of men, marching in silence, and heavily, heavily, as if their poor meagre bundles were very heavy. Only a few women, who have not been able to control themselves, follow, weeping.. Here is -Wavre. The little .village lies grim and grey on this sad: morning., It is hemmed in by troops, who, at all opening?, bar the way. Men are engulfed in the narrow streots leading to the market /nlace, the huge square, with its low houses, with shaky facades, sorrowful remains of a savage invasion. It has been completely evacuated, and all the roads which lead to it are empty. Only one can see, at the end of the thoso roads, behind the warring irmpa, the crowd from which-come eries, names, words of encouragement, ,or even words of farewell, to the poor people, rounded up. village by village, who arc waiting, dejectedly, pitiful in their impotence and their humiliation. A few among them remember, with a. _ little sorrowful smile, that yesterday _ in the same,place there had been a pig market. Choosing the Slaves. The. work of choosing begins. By groups of a thousand, the men are conducted to a school building, where the agent of the German authorities keeps oflice. To get at this school building the road rune by the banks of the Dyle. It is the picturesque spot of Wavre.' In normal times there is an atmosphere of peaceful gaiety, of cheerfulness. This morning, at the windows of the houses, the anguished faces of women, of children, of old people in tears. There are. people on the roofß. They all gaze greedily at the passing lines. They want to see once more, perhaps for the last time, a husband, a son, a brother, perhaps a fiance. After a wait of foiir hours, the crowd is finally conducted to the school. I watched the men. I know a number of them. I saw a_lot of their faces grow suddenly very pale. They walked in very firmly. But they are ghastly ■ pale. One feels the anxiety which freezes them, arrests the blood in their veins. These are tho married men, the men who have just left wife and children, and who aak themselves are they goine to see them again very soon. If not, not for a long period, one never knows, . perhaps never. Tho othors, the young men, go with a proud step. ' There is defiance in their eyes. As they approach tho school house all tho heads are raised, listening. A rumour, a sound which grows, grows— it is—yes, it is, singing. Almost cue would say it was the "Brabanconno," yes, and that was the Marseillaise , coming from the court yard of the school. And in fact, at the ond of that court yard are the men who have already been taken. It is they who are singing the Belgian and French anthems; When thov see us they all cry out, "Don't sien, don't sign." They . are splendid. There is no ■ anguish here. They aro over that full of bra- . vado, a rude pride, of masculine virility. There arc no complajntß. When one among tho men sees a friend rei leased he asks him only to toll his i family that ho has been sent away; and then he 'starts to sing again, passionately, singine Ms song of defiance

The Word of Fate. We go in .by a first room. A doctor is there, who examines those men who are armed with a medical ■ certificate. He seems indulgent, quite sonorous; he liberate some of them. A second

room. Hero tho fate of each man will bo decided, "brusquely, mechanically, in a few seconds, and without appeal. One peremptory word —and it is slavery—or freedom. Hore are many uniforms —Kreischof, civil commissary officers, and' all have that military rigidity which permits of no discussidn. Tho three delegates of tho commune— generally the burgomaster, an alderman and tho communal secretary—authorised to assist in the examination of their own villagers, can quite evidently do nothing. Two officers, who divide tho duty between them, make the decisions. One on each s'dc of the room, they examine the men rapidly, beginning with the young men of 17 to 25 years of age._ They look at the identity card, which • gives tho trade and social position of the bolder. They throw a glance over tho man, as if to weigh his strength, his value as an animal. One q'uostion, ;it the tip of his tongue, for tho sake of foimality: "Are you unemployed?" and immediately, whether the reply is negative or affirmative, tho decree, inexorable. If the card gives a trade wlich would be useful "la bas," the officer cries, "Left turn." Left turn! That is the road to Germany. To go out of tho room they must'go through a door divided by a barrier into two narrow corridors>and guarded by two srldicrs. The loft hand corridor gives access to another room, where are gathered those who aro to go.

. If the officer cries "Right turn!" it is liberty. The man passes" before an under officer, who put a stamp on his identity card. The right hand ■ corridor loads to an open window, heforo which is a table. They must climb that tahle, on to another table placed outside the window, and jump down into 'the street. It looks like an es: cape. It is, indeed, an impression of flight. There is no impression or relief or comfort, for the heart fs still torn thinking of the others, the poor' others. And then the nightmare is not yet at an end._ Ono must still contemplate the abominable, torturing sorrow. Ono must' still gather unforgettable remembrances of pity and paralysed'indignation. 'At the end of the little side street here is tho crowd. It has grown., It was lasting too long; it was too much anxiety; from all the villages the women had come—the mothers; the. wives, the financees, weeping.: They catch hold of those who have returned, demanding nows, sobbing. Is he taken, he for whom ; thev are waiting, their beloved, the chief, the prop of the house, the man whose departure ends everything? They don't know: they oannot reply; they come out into the midst of the poor, sobbing people, for they are all sbbing, even those who can clasp to their hearts their man who has been given to them. . - .

Harrowing Last Soenes. 'During-this time, what goes on to the left; to the'left in that' room, where are those who must go? There, each man as he arrives is asked if he will' sign an agreement, that is, consent to work for tho Germans, earning meanwhile & lass* salary. If ho consents, he eives his name and address, and he is authorised to return to his home, so that ho may make his preparations and depart at tho'-end of' a few 'days. If he refuses—and that is tho case with nn immense majority—he is menaced, threatened with all calamities, and goes to join the 'tumultuous groiro of those ..who did as he did; dignified and unbendng, and he is greeted with cheers, as for a victory—the victory of a man who submits, but whose spirit has no submission. We are still waiting. They are waiting for tho number to be sufficicntlv large. When it is. it is surrounded by soldiers with fixed bayonets, arid encircled by cavalrv. Then it is "en. route for the station!" Two officers march a .little in advance, their horse whips—yes, their horse whips—4n their hands. The side are followed. From time to'time a weeping woman, a'u old-man, having come this far by the most tremendous effort, manages to slip between the ranks, for one last farewell, for a supreme embrace, but at once the soldiers push them back at once, often before that long-for embrace. On the main street, which is reached, at the windows of the houses | the poor people still watch, watch with their dry, fevered eyes, reddened with 1 tears, and-almost mechanically wave their handkerchiefs. But those whom :they thus salute do not wish tp breakdown. Is it to reassure the courage of those dear ones who see them thus; is.it in order to prevent an exhibition of weakness before those soldiers who are guarding them? Nearly all of them march with head high; thoy wave their hats, «nd they sing, they' sing unceasingly, as they sang in the courtyard, of the school. But there were voices that are hbsky and full of tears. They march. At eaoh corner of a street there is a short struggle. Always one or another of the prisoners tries to escape, but always a horseman pursues him and brings him back to the ranks, unless, by a stinging blow from his whip, one of the officprs has not already sent him back.' And then tho man, pale, his fists clenched, , is ,quiet for a few minutes. What passes in his thoughts? What passes in the hearts of those others who, marching by their homes, throw themselves into the arms of their wives, kiss their children, and are torn from them by a soldier? They are quiet, too; But pretty soon, once again, they are singing, with a louder voice. They are not going to break-down.

Finally, the procession comes to a level crossing. They are collected on tho rails, between two embankments.' Tho station is quite close, and a strain of cattle trucks is in waiting. One can see nothing more. One hears only shouts, songs, tho "Brabanconne" and the "Marseillaise" again. This lasts a long time, a very long time—hours. Night has fallen. About 6 o'clockj suddenly, the singing voices are drowned by trumpet calls. Music? Yes, they have sent into the'station a recimental band,_ and it is this band tliat celebrates,. with the accented music cf a military march, tho departure of that train, iunlighted, lugubrious; that train, whoso passing over the level crossing rouses such despairing sorrow and emotion that old men and the women fall fainting, to the ironic sounds of that military march, quick, exasperating. They have gone. But where? No one knows. .What to do? No one knows. Will they ever come back? No one knows. No one knows. No one knows. What we do know, that from now' on we shall live with that heartrending memory, and the anguish. And even if they cqme back, never again can \they livo in security, that security of tho old days, when it was thought that such things were no longer possible.